Nightly Vigil at the Hearth

I crossed the wooden threshold back into the residence as the quiet of night claimed Fayetteville, my exterior duties at the town fountain concluded. Pacing past the dark timber of the entry hall, I made directly for the living room hearth. The slate hearthstone was cool beneath my boots, perfectly still. Rather than seeking out another displaced implement or surveying the shelves, I deliberately took my post beside the upright pillar of the cast-iron fire screen. Lowering myself with disciplined poise, I seated myself upon the broad stone, resting both gauntlets across my knees. Vigilance does not require ceaseless motion; holding a steadfast perimeter in quiet composure is duty enough.